


this way comes

by scootsaboot



Series: something wicked [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Branding, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Torture, dark magic au, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 22:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11541882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/pseuds/scootsaboot
Summary: Jack doesn't trust anyone. But he does trust Rhys.





	this way comes

The midnight air is crisp as they apparate into the small town of Astoria with a _crack_. Snow lines the pavement, falling in gentle flakes from the dark sky. Rhys exhales, his breath fogging the air in front of him. Jack wastes no time, one foot in front of the other, snow crunching under his boots. Rhys follows at his side, down the dimly lit street, hand tight around his wand beneath his cloak.

There’ve been rumors lately. Whisperings that the ministry was on the hunt for Death Eaters. It may have been coincidence that two of their own were ambushed not three days ago, taken kicking and screaming to Azkaban. Maybe the Aurors had simply been in the right place at the right time. Maybe the Ministry had finally done some detective work and managed to piece together Jack’s plans.

It’s possible the Ministry is more competent than they originally thought.

But it’s not likely.

Jack believes in something more sinister; a traitor among them, selling his secrets to the Minister. Rhys is inclined to agree. Jack has many supporters, but very few knew of Blake and DeQuidt’s mission that night.

They stop in front of a modest little house; black-gated fencing and a small yard covered by a layer of undisturbed snow. The house belongs to Avery Hulmur. He’s an Auror, one of the newer ones, fresh out of training and easy to pick off. Rhys still thinks it’s risky, coming here--Hulmur could have the entire Ministry at his doorstep in a matter of seconds, and the game would be up.

But Jack has always believed in the importance of sending a message, and Rhys isn’t one to question him.

Jack unlocks the gate with a twitch of his fingers. He’s calm, hands steady, but Rhys can feel something simmering just below the surface. He thinks maybe Jack knows something he doesn’t.

The gate swings outwards with a quiet whine, allowing them entrance to the pathway that leads to the front door. Jack steps through first, up to the door. He unlocks that too and then he and Rhys are inside Hulmur’s quiet home.

Rhys lets his hood down, wand at the ready. “ _Lumos_ ,” he whispers, and a bright light illuminates the dark room. It’s small, cluttered. There’s a reading chair in front of a blackened fireplace, and pictures of what he assumes are Hulmur’s family members line the walls. They’re all watching them, eyes wide and scared, trying to back away in their frames.

Rhys turns away from them. Jack is already climbing the stairs and Rhys hurries to follow him. They creak beneath his feet and Rhys winces, tries to step lightly. The bedroom door at the top of the stairs is just slightly ajar, the light from Rhys’ wand bleeding into the darkness.

Jack presses a hand to the door and lets it swing slowly open. Hulmur is asleep in his bed, breathing even and quiet, buried under a pile of blankets. There’s an enchanted clock on the wall with Hulmur’s portrait on one of the hands. It’s pointed at ‘ _home_ ’, little ‘z’s tumbling from it only to vanish into thin air a moment later.

It ticks quietly. As Rhys watches, its hand starts to move, creeping around the outer edges of the clock until it rests on ‘ _mortal peril_.’

He switches his gaze back to Jack, who’s looming over Hulmur’s bed. There’s a stillness in the air, the last piece of calm this house will see for a long time, and then Jack lunges for Hulmur, fisting the collar of his nightshirt, yanking him forward. Hulmur inhales sharply, half-flailing as he’s forced out of sleep; his bloodshot eyes go wide when he meets Jack’s. “H-Handsome J-”

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Jack grins, wide and manic. There’s a crackle of electricity in the air and Rhys barely manages to grab onto Jack’s robe before he disapparates. Hulmur is screaming, trying desperately to get away during their transport, but Jack has a strong hold, and then they’re back. Back in Jack’s house, in front of the roaring fire in the sitting room.

Rhys’ cup of tea is on the table, still hot.

Jack shoves Hulmur into an armchair and crowds him in, hands digging into the armrests on either side of him. “Avery,” he says like a sigh, like a disappointment. “Avery, Avery, _Avery_ . I tried. I _tried_ to play nice with you and your incompetent friends at the Ministry. I didn’t touch your precious school--and this is how you repay me? Conspiring behind my back, sending two of my associates to Azkaban?”

Hulmur is white as a sheet, desperately trying to push himself back into the chair, to create some space between him and Jack.

“And then you just, what? Don’t expect me to come around asking questions? You really think I wouldn’t find out who was part of that little investigation? Anything to say for yourself, sweetheart?”

“I--I--”

Jack stands up straight, rolls his eyes, pulls his wand out. “Well, uh, Avery, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Oh, please, please don’t,” Hulmur starts blubbering, clasping his hands together in a prayer. “I’ll ask Tassiter to call off the investigation, I’ll--”

“Hey.” Jack snaps his fingers. “Don’t interrupt me. I’m gonna kill you.” He grins. “And it’s gonna be nice and slow. You’re gonna _wish_ I used the Killing Curse on you. But!” He waves his hand. “I’m getting ahead of myself here. First, you’re gonna tell me which one of _my_ people has been talking to _your_ people.”

“I--I don’t know,” Hulmur cries. “Please, I don’t know! I never sat in with the informants, they wouldn’t even tell me who they were!”

“ _They?_ ” Rhys hisses. It slips out before he can stop himself. “There’s more than one?” A sick feeling of betrayal curls up like an angry beast inside of him. Not _one_ of Jack’s people, but _two_ , maybe more--selling him out to the Ministry.

Hulmur looks between Jack and Rhys, eyes wide and terrified. “No, I don’t--I don’t know! Please--”

Rhys takes a step forward, reaches for his wand with righteous anger. Jack holds his hand out, motions for Rhys to stop. He does, stands back despite how much he wants to hurt Hulmur--how much he wants to rip the names of Jack’s betrayers from his tongue.

Jack takes the news in stride, his smile getting bigger instead of twisting into the snarl Rhys had expected. He tap-tap-taps the wand against his palm and says, “I had my suspicions already. Good help is just _so_ hard to find these days. Now.” He presses his wand to the center of Hulmur’s chest. “About those names.”

“ _Crucio_.”  

Hulmur tosses his head back and screams, his body convulsing wildly. Rhys watches, letting the frown drop from his mouth. He knows how it feels to be at the mercy of the _Cruciatus Curse_ from Jack’s hands, from his intent to _hurt_. He doesn’t envy Hulmur now, although--he watches fat tears roll down his cheeks--he thought an Auror would be more resistant.

Jack only has to use the curse once more before Hulmur is sobbing out a name. “Nakayama, the only one I know is Nakayama!” he cries, barely able to get the words out of his mouth, face red as he pants for breath.

Rhys purses his lips. _Nakayama_. That creepy, jabbering idiot who’s always trying relentlessly to get in Jack’s good graces. Rhys doesn’t know why Jack tolerates him.

Well.

Jack’s eyes meet his knowingly.

Not anymore, he supposes.

“See, now.” Jack turns back to Hulmur. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, Avery?” He pats the man’s cheek with some force, ignoring the way he flinches beneath him. “And the others?”

“I don’t know!” Hulmur sobs, tries to press himself back into the armchair, as far away from Jack as possible. “Please, I never met with any of them--I only heard his name--”

Jack whispers the curse again and Hulmur seizes up, fingernails digging into the chair cushion.

“P-Please!” He screams again, wailing as the curse works its way through him. He starts to leak, from his nose and mouth--it’s a disgustingly sad sight that has Rhys curling his lip. He can’t believe Tassiter thinks Aurors like this could stop Jack.

Jack doesn’t let up, only briefly pausing between curses to demand the identities of the other traitors. Hulmur gives up nothing, red-faced and panting and sobbing all over himself. He doesn’t know anything else. When Jack finally pulls his wand away, Rhys can see the whites of Hulmur’s eyes, and he’s whimpering to himself.

Jack steps back, away from Hulmur. He slips out of his cloak and sets it on the table, before taking a seat in the arm chair opposite their hostage.

Rhys looks on in confusion, eyes darting between Jack, who’s rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and Hulmur, whose head lolls to one side.  

“Should’a had this done beforehand,” Jack says once he’s rolled up his sleeves. “But we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Jack?” Rhys asks, hesitant. He thought Jack would’ve killed Hulmur now. Should he--does he want Rhys to do it?

“C’mere,” Jack says instead, gesturing to the space between his legs. “On your knees.”

Rhys casts one last glance at Hulmur before doing as he’s told. He sinks to his knees before Jack with mindless obedience, pushes his questions aside. He looks up from under his eyelashes, meeting Jack’s gaze, waiting for his next instruction.

“You just sit your pretty little ass there,” Jack says, reaching out one hand to grip Rhys’ chin. “I’ve got a gift for you.”  

Rhys blinks, his heart pounding a little harder. Gifts from Jack are precious and few. Rhys can’t help but lean in closer, presses his cheek against Jack’s knee. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Jack laughs. “You don’t even know what it is yet, kiddo.” He takes his hand off of Rhys. “Ahh, that’s why I like you so much. Always so eager, aren’t you, babe.”

Rhys flushes under the words, creeping his hand forward to grasp at Jack’s ankle. He doesn’t deny it, can’t. He’s always eager for Jack.

Jack lays his arm out along his thigh, showing off tight muscle beneath tanned skin. He takes his wand and presses it to his wrist, whispers a spell Rhys doesn’t know. He starts to drag the tip down toward his elbow, cutting into himself. Rhys flinches when he sees the blood, eyes going wide with panic. He wants to move away, make Jack stop, what is he _doing--_

“ _Stay_.” Jack snaps, firm and authoritative. Rhys swallows and stays put, his fingers tightening around Jack’s ankle. Jack grunts when he finishes cutting himself open, pulls his wand away as the blood trickles down his arm. He pushes his hand through Rhys’ hair, gripping tight and forcing his head to the side.

Rhys clenches his teeth at the sting of it, his throat exposed to Jack entirely. Jack takes the fingers of his free hand and runs them across his arm until they come away wet with blood. It glints in the light of the fire. Then Jack sets his wand aside and presses those bloodied fingers against Rhys’s neck.

Rhys tenses, screwing his eyes shut. It _hurts_ , like a cigarette burning a hole into his skin, and he can’t help the way his fingers twitch. The hand in his hair tightens, and Jack moves his finger, drawing something against Rhys’ neck that he can’t quite follow. He trembles beneath Jack’s hands. His breath hitches in his throat as Jack trails a blaze of fire across his skin.

It feels like forever before Jack pulls his hands away from Rhys’ neck, but it can’t have been more than a few seconds. And once he does, the pain only gets brighter, more intense. Rhys cries out, overwhelmed by it; he forces his eyes open, wet with unshed tears, and looks up at Jack.

“You did so good,” Jack says, his voice reassuring. “That’s my special boy.”

Rhys shudders under the weight of those words. The pain in his neck starts to fizzle out just as quickly as it came, quieting down to a dull throbbing.

The blood on Jack’s fingers vanishes, cleared away by an unspoken spell. The cut on his arm follows suit, stitching itself back together until Jack’s skin is perfectly unblemished.

“Up,” Jack says, releasing his hold on Rhys’ head. Rhys tries to comply, but his legs feel like jelly, wobbly and unstable--Jack thrusts his hands beneath his armpits and hoists him up, setting him down in the chair he just vacated none too gently.

Rhys huffs, out of breath, his vision swimming with a strange sense of vertigo. He lifts his hand to his neck. The skin is rough and it’s tender to the touch, so he doesn’t trace the design with his fingers, instead letting his hand fall back into his lap.

“Alright, easy part’s done,” he hears Jack say. Rhys forces himself to focus on him, feeling like this is something he should really be paying attention to. Jack turns to face Hulmur, blocking Rhys’ view of him entirely.

“Are you still weeping? That was what, ten minutes? _Maybe?_ ” Jack grumbles. “They really don’t train ‘em like they used to.” He steps forward and his shoulders go tense. Rhys hears Hulmur choke. Jack’s always enjoyed a more personal touch when he kills. He doesn’t use the Killing Curse if he can avoid it, says it’s too quick. Says if he has a reason to kill someone, they should be suffering before they go.

Rhys has seen Jack’s hands wrapped around the necks of dozens of witches and wizards he can’t even remember the faces of.

It’s not hard to picture it now: Jack’s thumbs digging into tender skin, Hulmur’s face turning red as he gasps for breath. Jack will lean in close--he likes it when his face is the last thing they see. He’ll put his weight into it, crushing fragile bones beneath his fingers.

Hulmur makes a desperate grab for Jack’s arms, but he’s weak, can’t get a hold on him. He’s wheezing now, choking on his own tongue. And then he goes quiet, and his arms fall limply to his sides.

When Jack pulls away, Hulmur is dead, his head lolling back against the chair. Jack’s chest is heaving and when he turns to Rhys, his eyes are wild. His mouth twisted into a manic grin that Rhys knows means Jack is about to get exactly what he wants.

Jack snatches his wand up again and stands in front of Rhys. He leans forward, one hand falling to Rhys’ shoulder, clenching tight.

He presses the tip of his wand against Rhys’ chest and asks, “Ready?”

He doesn’t wait for Rhys’ response--not that he needs to, Rhys always says yes to him. Something in Jack’s chest starts to glow, bright and blinding between his ribs. It sits there a moment, growing in size and intensity, and Rhys can’t look away, inexplicably drawn to it.

And then the light splits, right down the center, ripped apart by some strong, unseen force.

Half of it starts to move, travels along Jack’s shoulder and down his arm. It moves through his hand and into his wand, and then into _Rhys_.

The pain in his neck goes sharp again as soon as the light touches him and Rhys gasps with it. He feels it press into him, bringing with it a brilliant warmth that seeps into his fingers, his bones, his very being. It takes hold of him, binds itself to him.

It’s a piece of Jack, he realizes breathlessly. A piece of his soul, now a part of Rhys. It sings in his blood and covers him like a soft blanket, burying itself as deep as it can.

Eventually, the light of it dims and the piece of Jack goes quiet inside him. He still feels the warmth though, and when he looks up at Jack it’s with a mix of awe and gratefulness and disbelief. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Jack swipes his thumb across his cheek.

Jack’s hand on Rhys’ shoulder loosens and he pulls away, chest heaving. The grin is still there though, sharp as ever.

“It worked,” he laughs. “It _worked._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> This series is a collab between me and thirtysixsavefiles. Expect to see more very soon :)


End file.
